"I don't recall you making this big of a fuss when you turned thirty, and that was, objectively speaking, a much more important birthday." Daine put her hands on her hips and regarded her lover. "What is going on with you?"

Numair groaned and buried his head under a pillow, muffling his words. "I'm dying of old age."

"You're being ridiculous."

"Am I ever anything else?"

Daine tugged halfheartedly at the covers of the bed. "Do you want a bath or not? The water's getting cold, and I'm not warming it up."

Numair's head poked out from under the pillow. "You could come back here and warm me up."

Daine just rolled her eyes. "You're an impossible man." She ripped the covers off in one fluid motion and bent to kiss him. "It's such a shame you're irresistible, too. Now, get up!"

"You're incredibly cruel."

She sighed. "Look at it this way. It's your birthday today, and everyone's very happy for you. Wouldn't it be a shame if you were to go down to breakfast – late, I might add, since we're going to be – and everyone was there to wish you a happy birthday but you didn't look your best? Now get out of bed!"

Numair groaned. "I will never look my best again. It doesn't matter whether or not I wash my hair this morning and wear my shirt just so. Nothing I do will restore my youth."

Daine hid her grin with her hand. "I don't suppose you could magic a glamour or something, to make yourself look younger?"

The look he gave her was enough to prove that he was serious. "Oh, darling," she said, sitting down on the bed next to him, "I was kidding! You are being utterly ridiculous. You are as irresistible as ever."

A large hand wrapped itself around Daine's arm, and Numair's eyes found hers. "Daine," he said, "how old are you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not this again!"

"Just say it."

"I'm seventeen. But Numair, by all the gods, it doesn't matter."

Numair sat up and traced her cheek gently. "I know you're saying that, and it is the great joy of my life that I can hear you and believe you to mean it. And you know that I would not want to change anything about you, Sweetling, or about us, but gods curse it, I am getting old!"

Daine scooted a little closer, reached over to run her fingers down the side of his face, then stopped, noticing something. Her fingers delved into his thick hair, and she brought her face closer to Numair's. He regarded her for one wary moment as she seemed to be trying not to laugh before she spoke.

"Darling, is that a grey hair?"

He scowled. "Another one? I got the one I found last night!"

This time Daine didn't try to stop her giggling. "Is that what this is all about? Your hair?"

Numair avoided eye contact. She sighed and stretched up to kiss his temple tenderly. "Numair. It's your birthday. You are, in fact, getting older – as we all are – but that is not a bad thing! One grey hair doesn't mean anything."

"You forget, Sweet, that it's two grey hairs, now, and it does mean something – the end of an era."

Daine just shook her head. "I swear, sometimes I think you're as vain as a cat. 'The end of an era' indeed. What era was that? The one where you could have any woman you wanted for the asking?"

Numair blinked. "That's not what I meant. You know that I only care about one woman, and I have her sitting right in front of me." He trailed his fingertips up the inside of her arm and raised hopeful eyes to her. "But she could come back to bed, if she really wanted to help me celebrate my birthday."

"Numair, I just got dressed!"

He raised an eyebrow. "I can remedy that."

But Daine was already wriggling out of her shirt. "You're going to have to explain why we're late."

Numair kissed her neck and grinned at her, eyes dancing. "As far as I'm concerned, Sweet, we don't have to leave bed all day. After all, I'm a grey-haired old man now."